


Princely Virtues the Third

by LadyRhiyana



Series: Royalty!AU [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Born into another House, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana
Summary: More variations on the theme of Prince Jaime and/or Princess Brienne.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Royalty!AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576543
Comments: 34
Kudos: 159





	Princely Virtues the Third

**Author's Note:**

> Parts One, Three and Five are continuations of previous AUs from this series. Two and Four are new. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

**

**ONE**

**

1.

When Brienne was 15 years old, the tabloids gleefully reported that Prince Rhaegar had left his wife and run off with Robert Baratheon’s fiancée.

Brienne paid very little attention. She wasn’t a royal-watcher. Besides, she had school, swim training and fencing lessons, and a part-time job as a lifeguard on the weekends.

**

The gossip quickly escalated into a political crisis. But Tarth seemed a whole world away from the mainland; surely it would all blow over and things would return to normal.

She stopped watching the news. There were other things to worry about. She retained only the dimmest impression that the Mad King had done something horrible to some lords from the north, but she didn’t want to know. 

When Robert Baratheon sent a message requesting her father’s support, her father sat her down and told her that he was going off to the mainland for a while, and she wasn’t to worry.

“But why do you have to go?” she asked. “What does it have to do with us?”

“Although we mostly live like ordinary people now,” her father said, “we are the ancestral lords of Tarth. With that comes obligation and responsibility.”

“But that’s – nobody believes in all that anymore, Dad.”

Her father only shook his head. “I do,” he said. 

**

When Brienne was 16 years old, Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident, and two days later Robert Baratheon followed.

The rebel lords chose Brienne’s father to take command of their armies.

Brienne was too busy to worry. She was overloaded with homework and assignments, and she’d just been chosen for the Stormlands team at the upcoming Westerosi fencing championships.

**

When Brienne was 17 years old, just after her final exams, an unknown person murdered the Mad King.

Two days later, it was announced that her father was to be the next king of the Seven Kingdoms.

**

2.

The Red Keep was strange and claustrophobic and she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. The servants and officials – strangers all – bowed and called her princess, but she felt as though they were secretly looking down on her.

Her father was the king, now, and spent all his time in meetings with the Prime Minister Tywin Lannister and the Small Council. She understood that he was trying to restore order and stability after the upheaval of the last two years, but sometimes it was lonely on her own.

She’d never really had proper friends on Tarth or her various sports teams, but at least she’d been one of a group of peers. There was no one her own age at the Red Keep.

The only people Brienne felt comfortable with were the Kingsguard.

The Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Arthur Dayne and Oswald Whent had returned from Dorne with Lyanna Stark and her infant son, Jon. Lewyn Martell – a Dornish prince! – and Jonothor Darry and Barristan Selmy had been badly wounded at the Trident but had recently been rated fit to return to duty. 

She liked their calm professionalism and their sometimes mordant humour.

“But why are there only six of you?” she asked. “I thought there were always seven.”

“Our seventh member is on mandatory stress leave,” Dayne replied. “He was the only one left with the king, while the rest of us were scattered – I understand things were very difficult, towards the end.”

**

What with settling in and all the chaos and rebuilding after the rebellion, she deferred her entry to Oldtown University until the next year. And then when it finally came time for her to leave, her father insisted that she had to have security of some sort. 

“Dad, I don’t want black-suited security following me about everywhere I go,” Brienne protested. “I just want to be normal.”

Her father only sighed. “Do you have someone discreet?” he asked the Lord Commander.

Gerold Hightower considered this, a slow, private smile curling his mouth.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “Jaime will protect her.” That private smile again. “It’ll do him a great deal of good.”

**

3.

Her father insisted on driving her to the campus on her first day.

“There are times I want to be normal, too,” he said. “My only daughter is going off to university. The least I can do is wish her well.”

And so she arrived in a non-descript bullet-proof black car, with her father and Arthur Dayne to see her off.

The seventh member of the Kingsguard, the unknown “Jaime” who had spent almost a year on mandatory stress leave, was to meet them at the rendezvous point. But she couldn’t see any discreet-looking security types, only a tall, golden young man standing by a car with diplomatic plates – the white-gloved chauffer wearing a black suit with some kind of red and gold crest – and saying goodbye to a young boy, clearly an adoring younger brother.

“Ah,” Dayne said, his voice fond and amused, “and here’s Jaime now.”

“Gods,” her father said. “He looks like a jet-setting prince. How old did you say he was?”

“He must be nearly 19 by now.” Dayne stepped out of the car and caught Jaime’s attention. He looked in their direction, nodded, and completed his farewells – the adoring brother catching him in one last hug before the chauffeured car glided away – before strolling over in their direction.

He really did look like a prince. Tanned, perfectly stubbled, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt and mirrored designer sunglasses with tumbling golden hair, he was the most beautiful gilded creature she’d ever seen.

“You look well, Jaime.” Dayne put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder and looked him over. “Have you been sailing?”

Jaime smiled. “My father has a holiday villa in Lys,” he said. “The waters are beautiful there.” His eyes darted to the tinted windows of the car.

“Come and meet the new king.” Dayne drew him into the back seat, across from Brienne and her father. “Your grace, this is Jaime Lannister, the last of our seven. Jaime, the king – and princess Brienne, who will be your charge.”

Jaime drew off his mirrored sunglasses and bowed to her father. “Your grace,” he said. His eyes were bright, wicked green. When they slid over to Brienne, he smiled – a slow curve of unholy amusement. “Princess,” he drawled.

**

He was a Lannister. He was charming and golden and beautiful. He’d spent the last year at his father’s holiday villa in Lys, sailing and working on his perfect tan.

She hated him already.

**

**TWO**

**

_“Bowing to the inevitable, he mounted the Iron Throne and said, “For the good of his people, His Grace must take another wife… It is only fitting therefore that we allow the king himself to make this choice. On Maiden’s Day we shall have a ball… Let the maidens come from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms and present themselves before the king, that His Grace may choose the one best suited to share his life and love.”_

_And so the word went out, and a great excitement took hold of the court and city, and spread out across the realm… Every highborn maid in Westeros began to primp and sew and curl her hair, thinking, “Why not me? I might be the queen.”_

Fire & Blood, GRRM

Princess Brienne of House Targaryen – called the Beauty – was the only daughter of King Selwyn the Tall. Her brother, Crown Prince Galladon, had drowned when he was but a boy; though King Selwyn married again and took many mistresses, he fathered no other children, and thus when the king died it fell to Brienne to take the Iron Throne.

She was only 16 years old.

From the outset, her new reign was troubled. The great lords of Westeros, thinking her no more than a weak woman, began to test her strength and resolve. The Ironborn attacked the Westerlands, sacking Fair Isle and Kayce and burning the docks at Lannisport. A new Vulture King arose in the Dornish mountains to terrorise the Marches. Tyroshi pirates ventured forth from their stronghold in the Stepstones to harass shipping in the Narrow Sea. 

But for all that she was a woman, Queen Brienne was of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and his fierce sisters Visenya and Rhaenys. She was courageous and determined and a skilled swordsman, and she swore that she would not stand idle while her realm burned. 

She called her banners and mounted her dragon, blue-winged Evenstar, and she rained fire down on her enemies until there was no one left to oppose her. 

With peace restored, the Hand of the King, Tywin Lannister, persuaded the queen that it was time to marry. He announced a great ball, to which all the unmarried men of Westeros would come to be presented to the queen so that she might choose her new husband.

Lord Tywin meant her to marry his own son and heir, Jaime, said to be the handsomest man in Westeros.

**

“They say she is monstrous ugly,” Cersei said. “They say she has none of the old Valyrian beauty.”

“She’s not ugly.” Jaime frowned at his twin. “Her features are plain, perhaps, but her eyes are –”

“Well, what of it?” their father interrupted. “You will marry her not for beauty, but for the throne.”

“You forget, Father,” Tyrion drawled, “the queen might not want to marry Jaime.”

“Nonsense. Jaime will be the only eligible candidate from the great houses at the ball – I’ve taken steps to ensure it.”

Tyrion’s brows flew up, and he threw an incredulous, laughing glance at Jaime. 

Jaime would have asked what his father meant by ‘taking steps’, but he truly had no wish to know.

Besides, for once he and his father were in perfect accord. Jaime had led the forces of Casterly Rock in support of the queen’s attack on the Ironborn. He’d seen her courage and determination as she flew her dragon against the black-hulled ships, dodging arrows and scorpions, her short white-blonde hair windblown and her blue eyes blazing.

He would very much like to dance with her at the ball.

**

**THREE**

**

“What will you do next?” Jon Snow asked.

The Long Night was over. Their losses had been terrible. The monstrous army of the dead had besieged Winterfell for long weeks, and even after the Night King’s death the cold and snow and the endless darkness had seemed to drag on forever.

Brienne and Khal Jaime had spent the howling winter together, the flickering fire the only light in their dark stone room, curled together under their heavy fur blankets. On the last day, as the sun rose pale and watery in the sky, Brienne had pressed his hand to her flat, muscled stomach, against the tiny flicker of new life within.

Khal Jaime looked down at the map of Westeros spread out over the council table. He trailed his finger southwards, down to the great city where the boy king Tommen sat the Iron Throne, his advisors ruling in his name.

He looked at Brienne, his deep purple eyes remote. “I want to go home,” he said simply.

There was a moment of silence. The clever half-man, Tyrion Lannister, tapped his finger on the map. “You have two dragons, your Grace. When you appear in the sky above King’s Landing, no one will dare to oppose you.”

“Do you think so?” The Khal shook his head. “They call me the Mad King’s son.”

“Aren’t you?” That was Sansa Stark, pale, ice-cold and fierce.

“They don’t know you, your Grace,” the half-man said soothingly. “You must show them that you’re different. Not just a foreign invader come to burn them in their beds. Perhaps you should take a Westerosi wife.”

Brienne’s heart sank within her.

“No.” Khal Jaime clenched his remaining hand. “I’ve had enough of living a lie. I don’t want the throne. I’ve never wanted it. That was always –” he trailed off. “I’m going back to the Dothraki Sea.”

“Your Grace!” the half-man looked shocked. He turned an accusing glance on Brienne. “You can’t just throw everything away for – for…”

“For love?” The Khal laughed. “What else is there, in this world?” He looked out the tower window, where the two remaining dragons wheeled and soared in the pale grey sky. “I have two dragons,” he said simply. “I can do anything I please.”

**

**FOUR**

**

Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident, and two days later Robert Baratheon followed. The rebel lords chose Lord Selwyn Tarth to take command of their armies.

And so the first person to throw open the great doors to the throne room after Jaime slew the Mad King was not Ned Stark but the Evenstar. As he strode towards the Iron Throne, he looked at the dead king, sprawled in a pool of his own blood. He looked at Jaime, blood on his sword and his white cloak.

But instead of cursing Jaime for an oath-breaker, the Evenstar looked even closer – at Jaime’s white face and trembling hands, at the glassy, remote look in his bright green eyes.

“Why?” Lord Selwyn asked.

**

One week later, King Selwyn of House Tarth, the First of His Name formally took the Iron Throne. Beside him stood his five-year old son, Crown Prince Galladon, a tall, blunt-featured boy with bright blue eyes, and his two-year old daughter, Princess Brienne.

**

[“The alliance with House Lannister stands,” Lord Tywin said. “The king will take Cersei to wife. A pity he already has a son, but still – accidents happen.”]

**

Time passed. King Selwyn proved to be both a good king and an able administrator – not always one and the same – and the realm grew stable and prosperous.

Queen Cersei bore the king a son, a golden-haired child with Lannister green eyes, and then a beautiful daughter with golden curls and a sweet, enchanting smile.

Prince Galladon grew strong and tall, smiling and courageous and kind, and the people of King’s Landing loved him. He loved the sea above all things, and spent many days swimming and sailing on Blackwater Bay.

Princess Brienne grew into a hugely tall, homely girl far more at home in the stables and the practice yard than a ladies’ solar. She was the despair of her septas, her skirts always ripped and torn, her hair always messy and tangled. Her stepmother the queen looked on her with pity and always sighed with disappointment.

But it was the queen’s brother, Ser Jaime, who first put a sword in her hand. He showed her how to hold it, gently guiding her chubby hands and fingers into the correct position, showed her how to stand with her feet shoulder-length apart and keep her balance. He walked her through her first drill, showed her the movements and the footwork, and smiled at her when she finally mastered it.

When the queen protested that it was hardly a fitting pastime for a princess and threatened to take her wooden sword away, Ser Jaime only smiled. _Don’t worry, princess,_ he whispered to Brienne, with his bright slashing grin. _I’ll persuade her._

Ser Jaime always managed to coax the queen into a good mood. 

**

When Brienne was eight years old, her brother Galladon died in a tragic boating accident on Blackwater Bay. The whole city mourned his loss.

Her younger half-brother, Joffrey, became the Crown Prince.

Things were never the same, after that.

**

**FIVE**

**

Long, long ago, on the far-off isle of Tarth, a mortal princess stumbled into Faerie while the moon was high and the stars bright above, and there she danced with a golden lord with a knife-bright smile. When the stars faded and the sun rose, magic slipping away, she held on to the golden lord and refused to let him go.

This is what happened afterwards.

**

His crimson spider-silk tunic, splendidly embroidered with gold thread, was horribly inadequate for the harsh winds and storms of a blustery Tarth autumn. Even as she brought him back to Evenfall Hall, he had begun to shiver.

She offered him some of her own tunics and breeches – they were almost of a height, though she thought she might be broader through the shoulders.

He ran his pale, shining hands over the battered leather and rough homespun as if he had never felt such fabric against his skin before.

“It’s all we have, I’m afraid,” Brienne said apologetically. “We can’t afford silks and velvets.”

He smiled at her, warm and slow and amused. “It will do,” he said, and stripped off his tunic right then and there.

She blushed and turned her back.

“I – I suppose I should ask,” she stammered, “what is your name?”

Behind her she could hear rustling and shuffling, and she remembered that glimpse of white, shining skin she’d caught – smooth, lean and graceful. Something coiled deep within her.

“I am called Jaime,” he answered. A touch on her back made her jump, and she whirled around to see him now dressed in mortal clothes, no less diminished for being clad in leather and cloth. “And you? If we are to be bound together for a year and a day, we’d best get to know one another.”

She could think of nothing to say. _A year and a day!_ She’d only thought to keep him with her for a moment or an hour longer. “Brienne,” she finally managed. “And this is – this is my island. Tarth.”

“Well met, Brienne of Tarth,” he said.

**

No one had ever told Brienne what she should do with a faerie lord once she had – well, _stolen_ him.

Keep him captive? She could not do that. It would be like caging a wild bird. Take him to husband? Some deep, dark part of her wanted nothing more than that, but she knew that if he turned on her he could tear her apart.

And so she treated him as an honoured guest.

They rode around the island, Brienne showing him the villages and the local landmarks, the beautiful white beaches and the high mountain meadows. 

Tarth was a rugged, beautiful island, but very poor. The inhabitants were fisher-folk and hard-scrabble farmers, their faces weather-beaten and their eyes narrowed against the sun, and like those who lived close to the earth they were slow, and patient, and stubborn. They looked on her with respect and pride, and on her shining guest with fear and awe.

But when the pirates attacked yet again and Jaime fought beside her to fight them off, grinning wildly, they began to accept him.

**

Slowly her days began to settle into a rhythm.

She lived with him at Evenfall Hall, with only her old nurse and a few servants. They spent every day together, breakfasting on bread and cheese and honey, and they rode out together across the island, dealing with this problem and that. She worked alongside her people in the fields and the forests and the fishing boats, and so too did Jaime, shining and otherworldly even in the mud and dirt.

His perfect golden hair grew wind-tossed and salt-streaked, and his pale, elegant hands grew callouses from the hard work. But even as he grew more and more part of the mortal world, she began to realise that his presence was influencing Tarth in turn.

Brienne’s old nurse had always told tales of the wild faerie-folk. Cook had always left out a plate of milk and honey for them, and the fisherfolk and farmers had their own ancient superstitions, but Brienne had never before caught more than a shadowed glimpse of black eyes and twiggy limbs in the forest, or a dancing flicker in the kitchen fire that might be the hearth-sprite.

But Jaime’s presence – and the power he trailed in his wake – drew them out and gave them strength. They began to crawl out of the shadows into the open, the smallfolk welcoming them as they welcomed Jaime. They began to contribute to Tarth’s livelihood, helping with the harvest and the catch, finding lost travellers and sailors swept overboard.

Brienne spent every moment she could with her golden faerie lord, growing closer and closer to him, and soon she could not imagine her life without his presence, without the richness and wonder he had brought into her life. 

**

A year passed in the blink of an eye, and then another day.

When the bright moon rose over Tarth once more, the stars brilliant in the black sky, she heard the sweet-singing voices and unearthly music once more, and knew that it was time for him to go back.

But –

He turned to her, his eyes smiling, and held out his hands.

“Don’t let go,” he said. “When the stars fade and the sun rises, hold on to me again – and this time, I will stay forever.”

**


End file.
